


All I wanted was to be around you (and now that I am, it's not enough anymore)

by coMANNNdo



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, The Body Swap AU, more characters and relationships will be added as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 20:17:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5839516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coMANNNdo/pseuds/coMANNNdo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't till Clarke closes and locks the bathroom door before she turns and sees the reflection in the mirror. Tall, lean, brunette... And was that a fucking tattoo on both of her biceps? Clarke desperately rubs at her sleep heavy eyes and grips the basin with both hands, leaning in closer to the mirror. She can see lines of lean, toned muscle, cheekbones so sharp that they could slice a man in half, and the tell-tale bright green eyes. An intricate braid of dark hair slides over her shoulder.</p><p>"Oh, fuck me."</p><p> </p><p>Or, the Accidental Body Swap AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I wanted was to be around you (and now that I am, it's not enough anymore)

"Mummy! Mummy! Can I please go see the fortune teller? Pleasepleaseplea-"

"Yes, Clarke, what do you want?"

"Can we pleeeeeeeeease go see the fortune teller?"

Abby sets her mouth in a thin line, trying to ignore the constant tugging on her jacket's arm, taking in the sight of her 8-year-old daughter's eager face. The winter wind had left Clarke's hair windswept, and there were wisps of blonde hair all over her face. Abby tucks the little strands behind Clarke's ear, and she marvels at the brilliant blue of her daughter's eyes. She suspected - no, she  _knew_ \- what the fortune teller would tell her daughter. She was Abby's daughter, she was Clarke, and she was definitely destined for big things. "Fine," she says, and can't help but smile when she is suddenly tugged in the direction of the bright red-and-yellow circus tent.

 

"Miss Fortune-teller?"

"Yes, little one?"

"So that's all there is about what I'm going to do, my future house, and all that stuff, right?"

"Yes, Clarke." There was a hint of exasperation in the teller's voice.

"But..." The little girl trails off, all of her confidence and forwardness starting to waver.

"But?"

"What about...?"

"What about?" The teller repeats the question, resisting the urge to throw her head back.

Clarke whispers so quietly, that the teller barely manages to catch what the little girl said. "The person I'm meant for?" 

The teller begins to perk up, and leans forward a little bit. "You mean, your soulmate?"

"... Yes." Clarke nods.

"Give me your palm."

Clarke holds out her little palm, nervously grinding her teeth. The teller gingerly pulls the little girl's palm into her own and traces the lines in the little hand before her. "Well well well, this is interesting."

"What's interesting?" Clarke questions immediately, looking up at the teller with wide eyes.

"It seems as if you'll meet your intended in a series of very, very interesting events. Events that..." the teller leans in closer to Clarke's palm, her brows starting to twist into a frown, "involve switching bodies?"

"Switching bodies?" Abby skeptically raises an eyebrow and begins to rise to her feet, taking Clarke's free hand in her own. "I'm afraid we'll have to go, Miss...?"

"Kommandant."

"Miss Kommandant. Thank you for your services, here is the $5 fee, and come now, Clarke."

 

Abby had left the tent shaking her head, Clarke was skipping, and the fortune teller leaned back in her chair, staring out of the exit after the mother-daughter couple in contemplation. 

 

____________________

_15 years later_

____________________

 

Clarke Griffin sinks down to the ground with all the grace and dignity of a soap opera star. The cold metal of the fence bites into her back despite the thickness of her hoodie, and the air is cold enough that morning to show the outline of her breath and forces her blood rush to her cheeks. Her thigh muscles protest as soon as she manages to reach the ground, so she starts to massage their lengths with her knuckles.

(It had been leg day.)

“That,” she pants, “better be motherfucking worth it.”

 

Ever since the untimely passing of her father, Clarke would wake up at the ass crack of dawn so that she could pull on her workout clothes on and begin her daily workout before classes started for the day. It was a way of loosening up and burning off stress, and also served as a reliable way to clear her head in preparation for her busy day. Being at med school and serving an internship at the local hospital, she _kinda_ had to have a clear head to deal with all of the bags full of urine, blood, or both that were chucked at her on occasion. Besides, there was no better feeling then hearing nothing but the pounding of her feet against the pavement and the thrumming of her heart against her rib cage.

 

"Clarke." A tall shadow falls on the woman on the ground, blocking out the first rays of the winter morning sun.

The aforementioned woman pulls back the sleeve of her hoodie, still panting, to check the time on her watch. As she takes registers the time, she widens her eyes comically and gasps, even raising her hand up to her mouth in mock shock. "You're actually not late today.” She pauses. “I'm impressed."

"I was late once, Clarke. _Once."_ Clarke can hear the smile in her voice, and risks a glance upwards.

 

She is greeted with the sight of Lexa Kommandant. Lexa Kommandant, one of her best friends. The friendship had been surprising enough for the both of them, seeing as their first meeting had involved a massive metal pole, three cups of steaming hot coffee, and a broken phone screen on the very first day of med school (Clarke felt like those four elements are pretty self-explanatory in terms of how chaotic the situation was).

 

“Would you like a hand?” Lexa gingerly offers the hand that isn’t wrapped around the strap of her leather shoulder bag and (somehow) a coffee tray.

Clarke flashes her a smile, grabs it, and hauls herself up. “Please tell me one of those coffees is for me.”

“Hmmm…” Lexa pauses in mock thought. “Yeah… Nah.”

“Why you gotta be so ru-”

Lexa tuts, stopping the blonde before she could launch into full-out song, instead letting go of Clarke’s hand and placing a cup of coffee in her hand instead. “Just take it, Clarke. You know I’m too weak to resist you.”

 

____________________

 

"I'm so fucking stuffed." Clarke’s voice was muffled. It may have had something to do with how her face was having intimate interactions with the café table.

"Same." Lexa groaned as she nursed her stomach, head thrown back over the back of the booth.

"I told you two not to -"

Lexa interrupts mid sentence by wordlessly flipping the bird at the younger brunette standing at the far end of the table.

"Oh shut your fuck, Octavia." Clarke pitches in, twisting so that she could glare at the younger girl in all of her big mouthed glory.

“Tut tut, that’s not how you talk to your serving waitress.” Octavia holds out her hand, expectantly waving it by their faces. “So in order to guarantee my silence, you can just happen to increase my tip.”

Lexa twists and struggles to reach her wallet, frantically unzipping it and throwing a wad of one dollar bills in the vague direction of Octavia's face.

(She hit her target bang-on.)

 

The two friends had entered WALKER café little over an hour ago to help out Monty. Monty, the brilliant chef who was up and coming in the local food industry. Monty, who'd they'd do anything for. Monty, the person who had roped the two into tasting some of his latest, food-related experiments. Which was extremely important to the two girls, because Monty's food experiments were several things:

A) fucking delicious,

B) extremely important to the growth and development of modern civilization,

C) the best cure for a hard day consisting of bio-med lectures,

And most importantly,

C) free.

 

And now that their food needs had been satisfied (and Octavia had received her bigger tip), all that remained between them and unlimited wifi was the distance between the cafe and their respective apartments. When they _finally_ decided that it was time to begrudgingly leave WALKERS (the only time Monty could ever experiment was later in the afternoon, after most of the customers had left for the day), it had already gotten dark. The city lights were shining bright, and cars had that sleek, shiny look to them that only night could give. The rain had already come and gone, leaving a dull, fresh scent behind, and a muted gleam to everything it had touched. Night-goers had already emerged from their apartments, ready to take shots, yell at newspaper stands, and do stupid things. Lexa was gracefully walking down the street in giant steps, and Clarke had tightly latched onto Lexa's left arm in order to try and keep up.

“Lexa, why do you have to be so goddamn tall?”

“Clarke, why do you have to be so ‘goddamn’ short?”

“I’m not  _that_ much shorter then you."

"Then your mockery is rendered useless, isn't it?"

 Lexa glances at Clarke out of the corner of her eye, and fights down a small smile.

And it's in that  _exact_ moment, that the sounds of thunder booms over the city. Startled, the two friends turned towards each other and made direct eye contact, and a moment of silence stretched out between the two before they decided to comment on the situation in unison. "Fuck."

 

____________________

 

And that's how the two had ended up full-out running down a cobbled alleyway late at night, trying not to slip and slide around on the wet stones. 

Lexa tries to yell over the rain, "Do you know where we're going?"

Clarke tries to wipe the rain off of her face, panting, "No idea. I've never been down this way before."

"I think we just need to take some shelter in a store or something, the rain isn't going to ease for awhile." Another boom of thunder echoes out, as if to verify Lexa's point.

"Yeah... Okay. But where? There's nothing along this alleyway!"

"Think again!" Lexa jabs a finger towards a faded, swinging sign that hung on the side of the alleyway, roughly about 10 meters away.

"That is so fucking old school."

"Only chance we have, come on." Lexa reaches out blindly behind herself, searching for Clarke's hand. She grabs it, securing it in a firm grip, and pulls her towards the door and the lit window.

 

____________________

_15 hours later_

____________________

 

 Stretching her arms above her head, Clarke yawns and stretches a bit harder, feeling her muscles contract and relax (and damn, the new workout must be working pretty fast, cause she already felt stronger). Sliding out of bed with sleep-blurred eyes and another yawn, Clarke pads to the bathroom. Her head is killing her - her veins are throbbing and her brain feels too big for her skull. Her mouth feels weird too, all clammy and dry.  _Shit, what did I do last night? I must have been pretty out of it, I don't even remember getting home._

It isn't till Clarke closes and locks the bathroom door before she turns and sees the reflection in the mirror. Tall, lean, brunette... And was that a fucking tattoo on both of her biceps? Clarke desperately rubs at her sleep heavy eyes and grips the basin with both hands, leaning in closer to the mirror. She can see lines of lean, toned muscle, cheekbones so sharp that they could slice a man in half, and the tell-tale bright green eyes. An intricate braid of dark hair slides over her shoulder.

"Oh, _fuck me._ "

 

In an entirely different building, a few more stories lower then a Clarke, a girl that was also staring into her mirror screams.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! And this time, I come bearing a gift: a new AU!  
> Let the games begin.


End file.
